Another Wrong Goodbye
by Chasind Desire
Summary: Even death couldn't free Anders from the iron clad grip of Vengeance. Hawke, the new Viscount of Kirkwall, is lead to believe the mage who started a war was still alive. Merrill is determined to save him.  Merrill/Anders Hawke/Fenris Isabela/? Smut Ahead


**A/N:**_ Alright, this idea came to me when I was talking to my beta about what stops Justice from making Anders into an arcane horror? This story will feature Merrill/Anders, Hawke/Fenris and Isabela/? (you'll have to wait and see :D. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what doesn't work and give me a thumbs up if you want to see more. I am writing this more off the cuff than my other story, just to see how it works out._

**_WARNING: _**_Smut Ahead_

* * *

><p><strong>Another Wrong Good-bye<strong>

_Did the devil make the world while god was sleeping  
>Someone said you'll never get a wish from a bone<br>Another wrong good-bye and a hundred sailors  
>That deep blue sky is my home<br>_

_-Tom Waits, Little Drop of Poison_

_You might think that because Hawke saved Kirkwall and became Viscount that her story was over. Nothing ever went that smoothly for Hawke, and it wasn't about to start. What she had earned for herself was a reprieve, a chance to reflect on the choices she'd been forced to make and for a sliver of time just be a woman in love. Except her mind wouldn't let her rest, see. One decision stuck out like sore thumb above the rest. The one she'd made when she'd decided to render Justice on a man possessed of it. Hawke had thrust the dagger home herself, and she'd thought that chapter of her life was closed. The funny thing about spirits and corpses is: the job ain't done until they say its done..._

oOo

One thing Hawke hadn't counted on when accepting the position of Viscount was the mountain of paperwork she would face on a daily basis. Good record keeping was akin to godliness the way the Seneschal told it. How terrible was it that she'd rather slay another high dragon than stare at another Maker forsaken report. Handling the Arishok had been easy in comparison. Her appreciation for the former Viscount elevated to new levels knowing what kind of bullshit he'd had to wade through and try to keep the Chantry and Qunari from fighting in the streets. Isabela had better hope Hawke never laid eyes on her again for causing that mess.

Speaking of messes, it had been nearly two months since the Chantry had met a rather colorful end. Countless innocents were slaughtered for the ideas of a hypocritical madman that had fancied himself a revolutionary. He'd been right, unfortunately. The other circles did hear about what happened at the Gallows. Some were in stages of revolt, where others had been annulled. It was chaos, and Anders was being used as a martyr for the anti-circle agenda. A pang of guilt seized her. That was her fault. She hadn't considered the long term consequences of deeming herself judge, jury and executioner. At the time she'd felt like it was her responsibility. He was her companion, a man she'd called her friend. His betrayal had hit a very personal chord, and she'd acted out of impulse.

She wondered at times, how much of the man she'd actually known and how much of it had been Justice. How much had her friendship even meant to that abomination? Her head propped up by her hands at her temples, Hawke peered down at the report in front of her. It had been the fifth on of its kind in as many weeks. It was time to investigate, something she couldn't do herself now that she held office. There was too much other nonsense to handle and delegate. It was a situation that needed to be handled delicately, by someone she trusted. Something she was having some decided issues with given recent events.

Guilelessly Fenris pushed the door open to her office. His head craned to look over his shoulder, he muttered curses in Arcanum. Hawke couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, a refreshing break from nobles reeking of self-importance and Bran looking down his nose at her. Unbidden images of the elf in their bed, lyrium brands basking his dusky skin in hues of midnight, raced to the forefront of her mind. Just the sight of him was enough to quicken her pulse and ruin her work ethic for the rest of the afternoon.

"The Seneschal didn't give you a hard time did he? I'll have his balls in a jar on my desk as a paper weight if he even looked at you the wrong way," Fenris lifted his white brows at that, as if considering the prospect before the Viscount continued, "I swear that man gets off making my life more complicated than it needs to be. You'd think the pile of corpses I leave in my wake when I get cranky would be enough incentive to make the man think twice before pissing me off."

"He doesn't bother me Hawke," the way he said her name had her lips twisting wickedly to one side, he closed the space between them. Palms flat on her desk, he hovered over it. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper, "But seeing you stressed does. Whats wrong? It has to do with why you sent a messenger for me I hope."

"Its this report," she said lifting it then tossing it vehemently in the elf's direction. It hit the desk with a slap and slid to the edge. He picked it up, his lips moving as he read, "I've had reports of a vigilante mage clearing out the scum in the Sewers and Undercity. At first I wasn't concerned, I was content to leave him to it for a while. I have a full plate as it is, and really it falls under Knight-Commander Cullen's problem. But this last one, the description. Its from a woman was hiding when this mage cleared a dozen lyrium smugglers. She said he called himself Vengeance."

"But Anders is dead, I watched you kill him," he said, looking up to meet Hawke's eye. Maker's mercy they had the power to melt her. Right, back to the business at hand.

"We never found a body, I'd always assumed it was taken care of while I was occupied at the Gallows. But maybe I should have twisted the dagger to make sure, or maybe its an impostor trying to use his name as a rally. Whatever it is I need it handled, and I know you'll get it done."

He nodded, "Of course Hawke."

"Bring Merrill, it might make it easier to locate him," she could see his discomfort at the idea, but he nodded in agreement.

"As you wish," he inclined his head a bit, then turned and moved toward the large ornate door. Hawke pulled another report from the pile. As his fingers wrapped around the handle and heaved it open, he threw a glance at her over his shoulder, "Can I expect you home tonight?"

Hawke lifted her gaze again, staring into his expressive eyes. The veiled passion within them sent a shiver of ecstasy in a jolt up her spine, "Bran will have to bar the door to stop me."

He nodded, satisfied with the answer. Fenris then slipped out of the office, another string of curses leaving him. He hated the Alienage.

oOo

_I will only hurt you,_ he'd said to her. The joke of it was that it would have hurt anyway. Merrill twirled the black feather between her fingers, wondering how she'd missed it. Maybe it had been that long since she'd pulled the bed away from the wall to clean beneath it. It had to be from that night, months ago now. It was the last time he'd been in her house. She rubbed the feather against her against her cheek, marveling at the oily smoothness and how his scent lingered on it still. She closed her eyes and she could almost feel his skin against hers. Almost recall the taste of his lips and remember the way he looked at her with melancholy in his eyes.

Merrill sat on her bed then and reclined back, propping her head up with an arm behind her head. Again she twirled the feather, mesmerized by the green-blue sheen. It was kind of like Anders, she lamented. If you had looked at him head on he'd been one way. Yet when Merrill had managed to catch fleeting glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye, he almost seemed like a different person. He had at least been an interesting _shemlen_. He came to her house the night she'd come back with Hawke, her hands stained with the blood of her people and Keeper Marethari.

Merrill had welcomed him in, against her better judgement - she'd been doing that a lot. After he'd offered covert condolences he started right in on her blood magic.

"_Why Anders? Don't you think I feel bad enough? Why do you hate me?" _she'd been unable to keep the raw hurt out of her voice, her tone quivered. Really his opinion of her shouldn't have mattered. But it did, on top of everything else it did. What he'd said next had taken her completely by surprise.

"_I don't hate you Merrill. I care about you," _he hesitated, unsure of his words. She could feel the spirit rising within him, swirling up to wrest control. Anders was successful this once at keeping Justice at bay, _"Love you even."_

"_No one's ever said that to me. Not and meant it the way you do, or I think you do," _she'd rambled, her mind racing and her pulse quickening, _"Why now?"_

"_Because its not too late. I'm not giving up on you Merrill," _he'd said, the syllables of her name dropping from his mouth honey sweet. Their eyes locked on to each other then, a storm of unseen energy raging between them.

Merrill had stepped forward then, reaching up to touch his face. Her stomach had twisted at the depth of sorrow and sincerity his golden gaze held. Creators, he'd really believed, _"I haven't given up on you either, just so you know."_

"_Don't," _he breathed, wrapping his hand around hers and leaning against her caress to kiss her palm before pulling it down, _"I will only hurt you."_

If she hadn't done something he would have left then, her one chance gone forever. Merrill didn't want to be alone, she was so tired of being alone. The Creators must have lent her their courage. She placed a hand on his shoulder for support and lifted herself as high as her toes would take her. It was just enough to capture Anders' lips. It was her first one, she'd hoped she was good at it. She must have been, his arms came around her slender frame pressing her against him as if he couldn't get close enough. It was new, and wonderful for Merrill. Who would have thought another person's tongue in your mouth would have felt so good.

He'd pulled himself away then, breathless he opened his mouth to speak but she'd hushed him with another kiss, _"I'm a big girl, Anders. Well...by elvish standards. I suppose I'm a bit wee by yours. But the point is, I can handle it."_

With that she was cradled against his broad chest, an arm at the bend of her knees. She warbled at the sensation, wrapping an her elbow around his shoulders to reassure herself he wouldn't drop her. She shouldn't have been worried, he'd carried her easily into the adjoining room, depositing her on the bed.

As she continued to envision what came next, she snaked a deft hand beneath her robes. She found her throbbing need wet and ready. That man had awakened a sleeping beast within her. Merrill's small fingers circled rapidly around her sex, the other hand moving up her torso to clutch a breast. She concentrated on reaching her climax, using a touch of electricity to hasten it along. Just as she was about to go over the edge of her orgasm, a knock came at her door.

She laid there, still for a moment, staring at the water stains on her ceiling. Dread wolf take who ever it was, the worst timing on Thedas they had. There was no finishing now. Muttering a string of colorful Dalish curses Merrill tucked the feather under her pillow and swung her legs over the side of the thin mattress. Another knock came, this one impatient.

"Keep your pants on," she called, nearly running to the door. She opened it and muttered an, "Oh."

"I plan to," Fenris said, a hand on his hip as he regarded her coolly, "Are you well? You look a bit flush."

"What? No, I'm fine. Oh. And come in why don't you," she stood to the side and Fenris slipped in. Merrill couldn't help wondering why he was paying her a visit. He hated the Alienage and he was much fond of her either.

"I'm not here on pleasure, mage. Hawke has something she wants us to do."

Merrill nodded in response. The distraction might do her good.

oOo

An afternoon with Merrill was a trial in patience. They'd gotten some leads, and picked up a clue or two, but anything further would have to wait for daylight. It was idiocy to transverse the Wounded Coast at night. That meant another day with Merrill, he could think of appendages he'd rather have twisted but Hawke was right. Merrill could potentially help find the mage quicker than he could alone, if she stopped tripping over herself and touching everything. First thing tomorrow he'd go to Sebastian or Varric and see if either of them were up for the Wounded Coast. Maybe a witness would keep him from doing the blood mage bodily harm, plus it was suicide to go as only the pair of them.

It felt good to be home, the home he shared with Hawke. He could barely think it with a straight face, and the words were so strange. Within the first few moments of walking in the mansion he heard the sound of shuffling papers from the library. He meandered to the chamber, the door left slightly ajar. He pushed it open, half expecting to see Hawke in her chair infront of the fire. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up, it was just Orana. Her demeanor constantly annoyed him, but Fenris kept such thoughts to himself. It was hardly the woman's fault. She stiffened suddenly from straightening the papers on the table. With Bodahn and Sandal gone, the former slave was picking up the slack with ease. She actually seemed incapable of relaxing or being still for any length of time.

"Serah Hawke is awaiting your presence in the bed chamber," she said finally, her hands fidgeting in front of her and unable to meet Fenris in the eye.

Fenris nodded, crossing his arms. At length her said, "Orana."

"Y-yes? Did you require something?" she asked.

"Go to bed," he turned and strode out of the room.

Fenris ascended the stairs with eager steps. The first thing he noticed was Hawke's scantily clad form draped over the vividly colored blankets. The second thing he noticed was that she was fast asleep, head lolled to one side and snoring faintly. He watched the line of her rise and fall with each breath. Her hand clutch the spine of a book splayed across her chest. As quiet as a Chantry mouse, Fenris undressed and pulled on a pair of comfortable black sleeping pants from the wardrobe set aside for his things, drab in comparison to Hawke's.

Bit by bit the space that had belonged to Hawke alone was becoming a shared space. Hawke had insisted upon it. She also insisted she that he stop calling her Hawke when they were alone, but old habits died hard. And she was kind of cute when she was annoyed, not that he'd say such a thing out loud. Along with the wardrobe, was a chest to hold his few belongings. On the night stand on his side of the bed they shared was the book she'd gifted him years ago. He'd been rereading the account lately.

Fenris descended lightly to the bed, and carefully pulled the book out of her grasp. He twisted and placed on top of the other on the table. She murmured a bit and Fenris froze. He didn't want to wake her if he could help it. Hawke hadn't been sleeping well lately, and it was beginning to take its toll. She put on a strong face but he knew how much the decisions of her past pained her. Especially the most recent she'd had to make. Not deciding to side with the Templars of course, order needed to be maintained. Left unchecked mages would sweep across the world like a plague, at least in Fenris' opinion. He wagered any that looked upon the Imperium would reach a similar conclusion. It was the one concerning Anders, the man that had been a friend and companion to them all. Or so they'd thought.

Fenris believed he deserved no less than what he got, and probably a whole lot more. He had no ounce of remorse for voicing his opinion on the matter then, however he did regret that it might make Hawke disinclined to talk to him about what was bothering her. He'd protect her from the decision this time, whether it was truly Anders or the more likely event it was an impostor Fenris would crush his heart.

As he settled himself on the mattress, Hawke rolled towards him. She had the uncanny ability to sense when he was near, even in sleep. Inching her body toward him, she nuzzled at the underside of his neck; nibbling lightly the angle of his jaw, "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" she hummed pleasantly against his skin.

"Never with you Hawke," he answered. When she sighed in playful frustration, he wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her flush against him. Her hips rolled against the leg between her thighs as she sucked his ear lobe into her warm mouth.

Her hands slipped down his body, fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants. She fumbled with the tie, "You are a little over dressed I'm thinking."

He lifted himself to allow Hawke to coax the garment down his narrow hips. Her touch grazed his growing erection, winning a low rumble from his throat. Kicking his pants off and ejecting them from the bed with his toes, Fenris rolled on top of her. Grinding his hardening length against the soft flesh of her belly a breathless gasp escaped her. He took his time exposing her breasts, each a pert mound hardening into a bead. He never tired of her naked form beneath him. he lavished kisses between them, then pulled each nub into his mouth;swirling his tongue around the dappled skin of her nipple. Soft sounds coursed from Hawke, her head thrown back and her hand reaching down his abdomen to wrap her calloused fingers around his shaft. Murmurs of his own escaped him as she stroked his length.

His weight supported on one arm, his other slipped between her skin and small clothes. His nimble fingers slipped between her petals, the dampness proclaiming with certainty her readiness. She squirmed with delight under his touch, massaging the pearl. Gradually he increased speed and pressure until she was shuddering beneath him, his name from her lips a plea for him to end the torture; that she longed to feel him inside her.

Hawke inhaled sharply and brought her legs around his waist as Fenris slowly buried himself to his hilt. He rotated his hips, his shaft making a slight circle within her. He collapsed against her, pressing his face to her hair. The smell of her mingled with her floral shampoo was intoxicating. Arms braced on either side of her, he fell into an instinctive rhythm. Hawke arched into him, the purr of her approaching climax spurring him on; harder,faster, stronger.

Hawke's nails dug into his back. Cradled between the pain of the lyrium brands and the pleasure of her sheath clenching around his pulsing need was an ecstasy he had no words for. But he'd never been a man of words. Only action. Fenris felt the edge of his orgasm build, his tempo faltered. One last erratic buck and he spilled into her with a desperate grunt. The world went white for a moment, blood roaring in his ears.

Sweat covered, they both lay together heaving. He whispered sweet nothings against her ear as he settled at her side, pulling her to spoon with her backside against him. Sated, he savored the feel of her against him. It wasn't long before sleep claimed him.

oOo

Moonlight bathed the docks in subdued blues, making them look almost peaceful. It took a fool to believe such a thing. There was no doubt someone being knifed in a dark alley just out of view, the corner of the woman's mouth twitched a bit at that. Isabela inhaled deeply, nothing could compare to the salty spray of the open sea, but she'd called Kirkwall home for a time. She was probably stupid for coming back, _The Siren's Call II_ under her feet. She'd had to beg, borrow and steal to acquire a new ship, but it'd been worth it.

Yet she'd caused a great deal of suffering in the city of chains, and her betrayal weighed heavily on her conscience despite the span of years, no matter how she tried to feel to the contrary. She hadn't picked the cargo, and she'd been very afraid of Castillon. But it was time to make amends, if the new Viscount would allow it. It wasn't like her to be so sentimental, but maybe age was finally catching up to her. Surely there was something she could do to get back into the Champion's good graces. It'd all worked out after all. The Qunari were gone at least. Isabela had heard a great many things about the Circle and Templars, but it was always about mages and the Chantry with Kirkwall. By the haphazard look of docks, and the more disheveled than usual look to the buildings she could make a reasonable guess something very bad had happened.

Perhaps she should make it a habit to put into port more often.


End file.
